


Untimely Excess

by Ezlebe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Implied/Referenced BDSM, Imprisonment, M/M, Military Science Fiction, Minor Original Character(s), Unrealistic Attitudes to Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: “I am beginning to think they don’t take me seriously,” Hux says, glancing down Ren's front and at the restraining apparatuses just this side of excess.Ren slowly turns his head, if only as much as he is able. The collar and cuffs attached to cross-bar at his back effectively immobilize him, not to mention make him look more a fool than any amount threatening; even his feet are hobbled to pins at his legs and ankles. It’s pitiful, really, almost infuriating, to see them reducing Ren more to beast than man. He actually has a muzzle on – who puts a grown man in a muzzle?Granted, Hux has thought about it, but that is in a completely different set of circumstances.





	Untimely Excess

**Author's Note:**

> story inspired by a tweet from staryaoirs / otpb0t on twitter, [who also did some AMAZING work](https://twitter.com/otpb0t/status/870816017823301633)  
> when I showed them the barebones of it that helped inspire me to finish it.

A resounding bang startles Hux out of his uneasy doze, a scuffle of too many feet, and he peeks his eyes open to watch as a trio of Republic soldiers shove a familiar figure into the duraplas cell parallel to his own. They ungently shunt Ren down onto the bench seat that spans the entire wall, then seal the cell back up with a needless slam, one of them sparing Hux a poisonous look as they pass to exit the makeshift brig. He doesn't know why they chose to convert the freighter’s forgotten boardroom into a prison, but he knows it is some kind of cruel irony.

“I am beginning to think they don’t take me seriously,” Hux says, glancing down Ren's front and at the restraining apparatuses just this side of excess.

Ren slowly turns his head, if only as much as he is able. The collar and cuffs attached to cross-bar at his back effectively immobilize him, not to mention make him look more a fool than any amount threatening; even his feet are hobbled to pins at his legs and ankles. It’s pitiful, really, almost infuriating, to see them reducing Ren more to beast than man. He actually has a muzzle on – who puts a grown man in a muzzle?

Granted, Hux has thought about it, but that is in a completely different set of circumstances.

The damned Republic, going so far as to violate Hux’s peace of mind to invade and _imprison_ him on his own ship, now make an example of Ren? It's an assault on all fronts, an underhanded attack that is a surprise on it's own as a surprise – of course they would sink this low. They're all oversized vermin, spreading and infecting the entire Galaxy with lies of peace while they would make an unlawful invasion of a _suspected_ enemy freighter.

“Did they even ask you anything?” Hux asks, unable to keep his curiosity completely buttoned down.

Ren heaves a sigh through his nose and glances downward, meaning he had hardly given them the chance. Either that, or the soldiers trussed him up and plan to let dear mother have at it, which is an equally likely possibility – not many have the mental wherewithal to interrogate Ren.

Hux rolls his eyes, glancing down to the duraplas partition between them that seems held together by little more than panels snapped together. He hums low and lifts a hand, poking at the seams with an experimental pair of fingers and feeling it give under the pressure. Of course, these Republic fools would make a prison out of his own freighter and not even be _competent_ about it.

“Just a moment,” Hux mutters, standing up and testing each of the panels. The loosest is up near his shoulder, and he presses it with the heel of his hand for a long few seconds, watching it distend and begin to peel apart from its nearest neighbors. Frustratingly, each piece seems independent, so taking one likely won't make the rest fall, but it might give him time to divest Ren of some of the more restricting binds.

Ren makes an amusing little croaking noise, eyes going wide and trying to stand from his bench; he barely gets a centimeter.

“Aren’t you useless as ever?” Hux murmurs, glancing down to watch anger grow dark in Ren’s exposed eyes – he doesn't often get to see it so openly. One of the restraints must be keeping his Force in check, perhaps the collar? The thing seems so otherwise pointless that it must be it.

He takes a deep breath and shoves harder on the pane, if just as steady to keep it from bouncing back. It should only need a few more moments and…

It pops out with a satisfying spring of noise, practically silent as it hits the carpeted ground on Ren’s side of the partition. A blaring alarm goes off just as it breaks, though, so Hux reaches in quick as he can and clumsily grabs at Ren’s dutifully bowed head, sliding fingers through his hair and down to the little pair of pressure seals at the back of the muzzle. It opens in an instant, but drops away to leave the collar unaffected and still wrapped around Ren’s neck.

Ren lifts his head and Hux watches it tighten suddenly, putting a dangerous pressure across Ren’s throat. 

“Stop,” Hux barks, trying to stick his fingers through the small space between skin and metal –

He'll be ashamed to admit he yelps when two pairs of hands grab him by the waist and shoulders, pulling him back with ease and slamming him hard against the wall to knock the wind out of him. He kicks backward, landing a solid hit on the knee of one, but the other grabs his head and bashes him into the durasteel hard enough that the next thing he realizes is he's slumped against the wall with cuffs at his own back.

“And you!” A soldier snaps, their voice curiously garbled when they turn to Ren with a grimace folding across their bearded face. “Stop trying to use the Force, that’ll only make it tighter. I don't want to deliver a body unless I have to.”

Ren snarls back something unintelligible, hissing and long-syllabled Huttese that Hux hadn't even known Ren understood, let alone spoke. The soldiers both respond at the same moment, speaking over each other, and the furry one curls a clawed hand around Hux's neck, clearly threatening and giving him a shake that makes him want to throw up from his spinning, aching head. A few more jabs get thrown around, but Hux understands no more than a few simple words like ‘credits’ and ‘human’.

A yell from the door and suddenly Hux is dropped back to the bench, the soldiers stepping back and marching away, hands tight at their sides with clear irritation. It's an insult, really, being practically ignored even as he was punished, and it stirs uncomfortable memories from his aching head.

“Can't finish the job, then?” Hux yells after them, leaning against the still-broken duraplas partition by the shoulder. He opens his mouth wider, carefully rotating his jaw and ignoring the pain spreading across his face, tingling and stinging like a shock only to settle into an ache. He thinks they may have cracked something in his cheek.

Ren clears his throat, catching Hux’s eye and raising a brow.

“Ah,” Hux hums, ignoring an impulse to slide down in his bench. He just wants to lie down, suddenly, stomach roiling with nausea, “They already used their muzzle on _you_.”

An awkward cough, then, “Sir?”

Hux sighs and looks across to the other row of the cells on the opposite side of the room, raising his brows at the pair of escort troopers. He had planned for six, but Ren went gone over his head with boasts of his own power being enough for a ‘milk run’, whatever that loathsome slang meant.  “Am I to believe you have a plan, Atak?”

“No, sir,” AT-1000 says, a properly shamed look crossing his face, “However, Arc thinks a few prototype battle droids are in cargo.”

The other trooper, AT-1003 or _Arc_ , reaches over and taps at the partition between her and Atak, whispering something in a low tone. Atak rolls his eyes, muttering something back, and Hux very nearly starts calling out regulations.

“She saw them,” Atak amends, expression folding with embarrassment.

“And here I thought Phasma already disciplined you for speaking in Arc’s place,” Hux sighs, though he’s rather certain that punishment was less reconditioning and more _this mission_. It has truly backfired on all related parties at this point.

“Yes, sir,” Atak says, nodding shortly and looking at his feet. “But I agree.”

“Well, if they’re in cargo…” Hux exhales, narrowing his eyes up at the vents. He has absolutely no idea how he could activate them from here, especially now with his… His eyes catch across the room, near the door – a holo screen. The droids should still be connected to the network, if the smack-happy trespassers haven’t disabled it.

“You should never start speaking a thought without finishing it first,” Ren says, his voice at a curious lilt. He pauses for a moment then leans sideways on his bench, “It will be fine.”

“I don’t believe I asked you,” Hux says, glancing sideways and catching Ren’s frown, then sharing one of his own. “I don’t believe I _ever_ ask you.”

Ren just nods shortly, looking back forward and visibly relaxing the tension on his collar. “The Force will guide it.”

“The Force?” Hux scoffs, raising his brows with no little irritation. He longs for his hands to be free, if only to give Ren a proper insult with the duraplas between them. “You’ll literally cut your own head off.”

“I’ll get loose,” Ren says, trying to shift backward and clearly failing due to the restraints, then coughing awkwardly and leaning into his seat with affected boredom.

“You won't,” Hux argues, leaning closer to the separating duraplas, just near the missing pane, and feeling a sneer stretching across his lips. “Now you're no better than any one of my other soldiers.”

“Yeah,” Ren says, his voice lowering into something decidedly mocking, eyes going dark and cruel. “I guess I am. Putting up with you only because it’s preferable to dying – just like your soldiers.”

Hux stares for a shocked moment, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest he had once learned to ignore, and when he finds his voice, it is unduly strangled, “See if you get my help, then.”

Ren only scoffs, rolling his eyes to the other side of his cell. “S _ur_ e.”

Hux finds himself batting back an old, bitter anger and attempting again to doze, if nothing else than to save his strength. It gives him the benefit of appearing unassuming, as well; asleep and unaware if the Republic soldiers return, even if the troopers and Ren might assume it’s from the concussion making him drowsy, which it isn’t – he’s not even truly asleep.

He’s fine.

“Commander, sir,” Arc says, breaking the long-stubborn silence. Her voice is rarely heard when when not modulated by a helmet, let alone on her own accord, which has her the last person Hux expected to speak up: her companion had been on the short list by about ninety percent; Ren taking ten for his usual ability to make everything even worse. 

“Speak, trooper,” Ren growls, a noise that would have sent a chill through the room had he been within his full power.

“The General got himself punished for your comfort,” Arc says, her voice remaining characteristically soft, though steady; if it weren’t for her talent with explosives, Hux isn’t sure she would’ve made it through to her teen years. “Please reflect on your words, sir.”

Arc must truly be feeling brave with Ren temporarily neutered.

“Your input is noted,” Ren drawls, shifting with a noisy clatter of his restraints against the wall. “Keep it to yourself next time.”

A hollow whack disturbs the peace in only the next few moments, and Hux lifts his head with a start to find Ren up against the partition, his eyes narrow and intense. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed just next to Hux’s, unerringly close, and Hux has absolutely no idea when he’d gotten so chummy. He can only really half-remember why or… Or _how_ they got here?

He looks around, blinking at the hollow space for a table, and - Ah, yes, how could he forget: a traitor – or an infiltrator, or just a gutless moron – had sabotaged the ventilation to allow a squadron of Republic soldiers on board. They were caught so unawares that everyone had woken locked in stupid, badly made cells with little more warning than lethargy settling as they left Talus. He can't even remember if they tried to interrogate him. 

Now, Hux is no doubt on his way to the Core to be stuck in a lightless cell, and… He has never been to a core planet. He's seen holos, of course, reports and scouting of their decadent, thoughtless nature, but he's never _actually_ stepped foot on one. He wonders if he can perhaps tell Ren to – oh wait, Ren is…

Hux glances over and across Ren’s front, down his forcibly altered posture and his thrust-out chest, consequence of the cuffs and cross-bar at his back. It’s not altogether a _bad_ look for him, only unfortunate to the circumstances; it would probably look better in red, which is a thought to keep at the back of his mind. It would require moving away from fumbles in convenient rooms, of course, and –

“Stop mumbling,” Ren growls, clearing his throat and averting his eyes when Hux looks up to catch them. “It’s… _unnerving_.”

“I do not mumble,” Hux says, in disbelief of even being accused of such immature behavior; he had that sort of indignity well trained out of him long ago. “If anyone is going to, it's you. All the time.”

“You were,” Ren insists, looking over again if just to glare, mouth pinching into a worrisome moue. “I could hear you.”

Hux narrows his eyes, hoping his displeasure is sharp and pitiless through the duraplas.

“You said –” Ren clears his throat, blinking up to the ceiling with an awkward pinch of expression at his lips. “It doesn't matter. Don't go to sleep again.”

“I was only dozing,” Hux says, belatedly recognizing that could be taken as excuse or agreement, neither of which he’d normally respond.

“You were out for over an hour, sir,” Atak says, leaning forward in his cell with a familiar, carefully diffident measure of insubordination; it must be something they train into the medical staff. “You would normally be safe to sleep, but your reflexes will be suboptimal if you need to be woken while we make an offensive move.”

A dense, uncomfortable silence descends over the cells. Hux chooses to blame the usual awkwardness of a lowly field medic giving a superior officer orders, but deeper down he knows it’s likely just the memorization of all parties of this feebleness he’s being forced to show. He looks down to the bench at his side; it’s a comfortable plush, wedges into individual seats when the time calls for a meeting. He hasn’t had much call to use them – Ren is the one who uses this freighter on long-term missions, and the moment Ren calls for a meeting is the same that Hux hands in his resignation.

The quiet is broken by a broken cough, “What did you mean?”

“I'm not sure,” Hux says, blinking away his thoughts with a heavy exhale and ignoring an urge to glare, keeping his face vacant, “I don't recall having ever directly spoken to you. Perhaps in our entire posting.”

Ren presses his lips to a pale line for a moment, visibly and gratifyingly irked. “When you said it would look better _red_.”

“I think that's obvious,” Hux responds, narrowing his eyes as he looks up to the paneled ceiling. He realizes a few seconds later, after silence has grown almost suffocating, he probably should have lied and accused Ren of hearing him wrong. At least the head trauma will give him a selection of excuses on why he won’t remember this once they get free.

A complicated sneer that devolves into a slack-jawed befuddlement crosses Ren’s face in an amusing cycle, and he awkwardly leans closer to the broken space, voice low, “Why?”

Hux gives in to an impulse to sigh, glancing across room to find the troopers murmuring to each other, but not completely unaware. He doesn’t need _other_ people remembering this for him. “I…I like my things to come in red.”

Ren narrows his eyes, a frown marring his expression. “Your _things_?”

Hux eyes him for a moment longer, then lifts his chin, answering with a pointed raise of an eyebrow and a glance downward at the collar. A few of his _things_ may have yet to get with the program, but he’s certain they will in time, even if… tragically, said _things_ aren’t so fond of being tied down. It won’t be their fault; Hux hadn’t really thought about it either until he saw it for himself. “I don’t like how they’ve done it here –”

“Great,” Ren mutters, his voice bitingly sarcastic.

“You’ve been bound up from head to toe like some kind of caricature,” Hux says, trying to reach out before remember his hands are tied back, going numb, “It’s nothing but degrading.”

Ren huffs something unintelligible, then audibly sighs, “But _you_ could do better.”

“Obviously,” Hux says, biting back a smirk that threatens to stretch across his mouth. He wants to return to the safe contemplation of the bench, rather than an idle imagining of Ren far more bare-chested and desperate, with him _alone_ , but his addled mind is on a tangent. “Half of that would get in the way.”

“In the way…” Ren trails off, face going lax with thought before his eyes widen, seeming instantly more intrigued now, which is far quicker than Hux had given him credit. “Oh.”

“Of course, I couldn’t just give it to you,” Hux continues, hearing his voice lower, leaning in close to the partition himself until it seems like his shoulder might feel the heat of Ren’s on the other side. “You’d have to _ask_ for it.”

“I wouldn’t…” Ren pauses, grimacing awkwardly and visibly attempting to flex out of the binds, then sighing heavily, a visibly ruddy dusting across his cheeks. “I-I _might_.”

Hux hums low, ignoring how the tone drives a stake into his temple, “I would finally manage to get you held down.”

Ren is quiet for a few moments, then takes a markedly uneven breath. “Would it… The collar still get tighter?”

“It could if... I choose,” Hux says, faintly surprised at the suggestion to the point of legitimately being taken aback. It’s inspired from his being unwillingly put in binds – Hux would be furious; he _is_ furious. “I feel you should be more disagreeable to this, as much as I’d hate to admit.”

It's only somewhat true, he hadn't really been thinking about it at all, but in _hindsight_.

It takes a few moments for Ren to actually shake his head, and even then, it hardly seems entirely honest. The curls normally trapped by helmet shift at the movement, brushing forward across dotted cheeks when Ren leans into himself and drawing in close to the shifting tendons of his neck.

Hux clears his throat, realizing his wandering mind too late and trying to concentrate on anything else: the pain of his head, the ache in his wrists, the persistent flare of these damned lights. He doesn’t care how Ren’s lashes cast sparse shadows, or the way his plush lips press down and pucker into a pout.

“You don't know everything,” Ren says, a darkening color spreading down under the collar. He glances to Hux between quick blinks, “We’ve only coupled a few times.”

A cough suddenly breaks the quiet, revealed quickly to be Atak as he descends into a veritable hysterical fit, “Oh, look at that, Arc – Arc, did you – ? It must have just been me…”

Arc mutters something with a sharp hiss, turning away from him with an eye-roll to glare at the door.

“I'll be furious if I find you've been grooming my baser impulses for this,” Hux says, the notion coming like an electrical strike; he can certainly remember a time or two Ren insisting on hair pulling and the like, an encouragement of spite Hux didn’t often get in sex, but he had assumed that was simply the result of their... _understanding._

“No,” Ren says, with a rush of breath that seems to trip his own tongue into knots. “No, I've never. Given it so much thought.”

Hux raises a disbelieving brow, forgetting to think again as he opens his mouth, “I imagine you have, if not with company.”

Ren rolls his eyes, bodily slumping downward at an awkward angle on his bench. He looks away after another moment, shaking his head again and breath seeming to quicken at every next moment. The ruddiness of his face has turned to a familiar solid coral, flaring when Ren shifts his bound legs from one angle on the floor to another.

Hux realizes too late what exactly is going on on the other side of the duraplas, and in his defense it is far too preposterous even with a concussion. He shifts his attention forward, glancing across to the troopers to find them blessedly deep in conversation, completely unaware of the _utter_ _embarrassment_ at Hux’s side.

“I am in disbelief,” he mutters, looking determinedly forward a few seconds longer at the unassuming troopers, before compulsively glancing sideways again to the absurd sight of Ren still fidgeting and flushed.

The cells have truly turned into a nightmare – no, it’s worse than that: an outright torture. He thinks he might feel blood rushing up to heat his own neck and face, if thankfully absent most everywhere else mortifying. He desperately wants to believe he’s above this, but he’s not entirely absent an imagination, and it seems to shift into hyperspace at the smallest bash against a wall.

“It’s your fault,” Ren snaps, glancing upward with a piqued glare, brown eyes distinctly gilt under the bright light. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You’re like a teenager,” Hux scoffs, feeling entirely the wrong sort of disgusted. The sight of this cold, unfriendly steel taking valuable space around Ren’s neck suddenly makes him unduly furious. He knows it was _his_ words, _his_ untimely turn of conversation, but something dark in his hindbrain snarls and pulls at the idea of Ren being any amount aroused under the bonds of this inhuman contraption. He tries to ignore it, but somehow only feels more defensive. “Immature in every way, I swear.”

“Stop talking,” Ren says, bending awkwardly at the waist to look at his boots.

“Maybe not physically, but that hardly makes up for your behavior,” Hux continues, now set on funneling his frustrations toward Ren, ignoring the rush of other thoughts trying to escape: what are you imagining; is it really because of me; does it really make you so excited; have you thought before of being so completely _mine_? “I don't need Republic soldiers knowing you’re a deviant.”

“Could you not be you for ten minutes?” Ren groans, glancing up sideways, a doleful look in his eyes. “Even five.”

Hux slowly raises an eyebrow, forgetting to bite back a mean smirk. “Obviously, no.”

“You go literally forever acting like – ” Ren pauses, lips sealing over his teeth and holding his mouth shut for a few moments, leading into a sigh. He looks down to his lap again, “Whatever. I don’t need to excuse myself to you.”

Hux almost lets it sit like that, but here, in this damned transparent cell, he has little other diversion. “Like what?”

Ren doesn't even look back over, his profile slowly becoming more sullen than the past minutes of vulgar impatience.

“Ren,” Hux says, trying to harden his voice; the tone just puts an odd pressure on the base of his skull, prompting a pulse of agony to travel up across his temples.

Ren rolls his eyes sideways, ever petulant. “Like you’re a _droid_ with no emotion except for impatience.”

“Ah,” Hux intones, trying to roll his eyes without aggravating his headache, only to give up and raise an eyebrow, “So you prefer my losing aptitude for restraint – or to say, acting like you?”

Ren sighs heavily, sitting back up with some difficulty until his head hits the back wall with a smack. “You won’t even remember.”

“I don’t believe I was hit that hard,” Hux mutters, if reluctant to abandon his single pretext for doubt. Admittedly, he is a little confused, and he keeps forgetting to keep his mouth closed, but he doesn’t think much will truly drop from his mind at this point – even if it did, there’s still surveillance videos he’ll be forced to confiscate. 

“But it still hurts?” Ren asks, in practically a whisper, as if it’s somehow a secret.

“Yes,” Hux says, leaning back against the wall to join Ren in staring at the fascinating lines on the ceiling. “It still hurts.”

“I’ll kill them,” Ren announces, his voice now _far too loud_ for the small space.

Hux glances down to make eye contact with the previously bored troopers, who look about two seconds from heart-attacks, their hands on absent weapons. He manages to swallow a laugh that threatens to erupt from his throat. “You were going to anyway.”

Ren is quiet for a few seconds, then exhales hard, a thunk against the duraplas meaning he’s leaned sideways against it. “I could draw it out now.”

“What did you say to them?” Hux glances sideways to catch the tightening of Ren’s jaw, an attempt to hunch his shoulders; the usual signs of embarrassment. “In Huttese.”

Ren takes a breath, opening his mouth, only to simply shrug and looks forward at the troopers. His flush seems to reappear, which probably shouldn’t be so flattering in the circumstances of dignity.

“I see,” Hux says, tutting low and letting his own head rest awkwardly on a duraplas pane, just next to Ren’s cheek, “It must have been _terribly_ embarrassing.”

Ren shakes his head, eyes markedly downward, “No.”

“I – “ Hux finds himself stopping short, blinking down in disbelief at his abruptly freed arms, now lax at his sides. It’s obvious what happened, but he had thought it unlikely to the point of impossible in the circumstances.

“It goes loose if I wait long enough,” Ren says, tilting his head to the side and exposing the collar; it tightens suddenly, squeezing into flesh, then begins to gradually slack after thirty or so seconds. “I don't think they really want me dead.”

“Ah,” Hux intones, rubbing at his bruised wrists, gritting his teeth against pain as the numbness bleeds into pins and needles. He shifts forward, leaning in on a knee, then takes a breath and stands – he finds himself back on the bench not an instant later, vision swimming and chest tight, nausea returning with new intensity.

The troopers look about to panic again, pressing up to the duraplas of their cells in a manner that makes Hux feel like a zoo exhibit, the impression worsening when he glances sideways and finds Ren in a similar state.

“A moment,” Hux mutters, lifting a hand and pressing it hard across his brow.

He manages to really stand after another shallow breath, swallowing thickly and balancing on the rickety edge of the separated panes. He swallows a gasp as it breaks off under his weight, and watches it drop with tension winding up tight between his shoulders.

Nothing happens. No alarms, no rushing soldiers, only the sound of his own quickened breath.

He glances up to the equally surprised Ren, then quickly goes for the next pane down, and the next, until he’s able to step through into Ren’s cell. He can feel a panicky beat inside his chest that can only be adrenaline, flooding his addled mind with various foolish options of how to proceed.

“Turn round,” Hux says, pressing at Ren’s shoulders with a pair of fingers, “I might be able to remove it quick.”

“Not even you, General,” Ren says, twisting awkward at the waist to display a keypad binding the mechanism that holds both the cuffs and collar in place. It would be an almost admirable degree of preparedness if Hux wasn’t on the other side of it.

“Well,” Hux murmurs, gesturing for Ren to lean back again at the wall. He looks down at the rest of it, ignoring the way Ren seems to be stretching his neck deliberately, and realizes he might be able to do something – he drops to kneel at the floor.

“General,” Ren says, tilting his head as he looks down at Hux through the narrow space of his own legs. He has an entirely unfortunate smirk breaking across his lips.

“I can leave you there,” Hux says, ignoring the inconvenient flash of heat across the back of his neck. He starts to trace and twist at the binds, looking for the pattern combination needed by the release snaps that these manacles use in place of a programmed code. “Or make you crawl out of here with your pants down. Maybe they'll tell the whole Republic that Prince Ben shaves his cock.”

Ren seems to actually take the threat at surface value for a few seconds, quiet as Hux presses at the troublesome releases, then starts to look smug again, even letting his thighs fall open obscenely when the binds of one leg snap open. “But then you’d have to let them leave the ship alive.”

“Unfortunately,” Hux mutters, attempting to repeat the same complicated, precise twist of dials on the other thigh, worsening his headache with concentration. Every little fumble is a like a compounding of failure, and by the time he’s finally gotten it off, he’s wondering why Ren hasn’t yet mocked him for this loss of faculty, too.

A guard finally rushes in at the moment the manacles drop with a clang to the floor. They're suspiciously alone, and even hesitate a few seconds in shock before lifting the blaster in their hands. “Get back in your cell, scum.”

Hux feels a laugh erupting from his throat before he can stop it, and turns around clumsily on his toes. “Excuse me?”

The soldier gives an audible snarl, leaning forward and yanking open the door to Ren’s cell. “I said _get back_ to your _cell_ ,” the soldier repeats, pointing again with the blaster to the other cell, visibly starting to panic by the uneven shake of the barrel. “I will shoot if – ”

The soldier’s face abruptly blanches sickly pale, their head snapping sideways with a sickening crunch that makes Hux lean backward on his heels. He stares for a beat of shock, until another choking, wheezing gasp breaks the silence, and he finds himself standing in an instant of visceral panic.

Ren has his eyes screwed shut, cheeks hollow with the effort of drawing on unavailable breath, and Hux finds himself reaching forward to hold Ren’s face between his hands. The collar itself is dug appallingly deep into flesh, purpling before his eyes, and Hux can do little more than stare and count the too-many seconds it takes to loosen. He starts to think it never will around thirty, quietly panics at thirty-five, until at forty a quiet whir sounds and the collar returns to a less deadly diameter.

“H-He – ” Ren takes a wheezing breath, attempting to bend at the waist with a series of deep, hollow coughs.

“You are a stupid, _stupid_ man, Kylo Ren,” Hux hisses, shifting one hand to pull hard on a sensitive ear; he can feel his heart beating like a hammer under his ribs, rushing blood aggravating his headache to a splitting pain.

Ren just hacks out another few breaths, blinking away tears from red, watery eyes. 

Hux hovers for another moment, then leans in closer, dropping his hands around wide shoulders with a squeeze. “Do not. Do that. Again,” he says, hoping his voice is more firm than it sounds to his ears.

Ren glances up sharply, chest still heaving with regained breath. The look in his eyes is unreadable, yet heavy, though it disappears an instant later when he focuses on the troopers.  

“Be still,” Hux says, kneeling down to repeat the twisting maneuver on the manacle locks at Ren’s ankles, finding himself ludicrously proud for his doing it on the first try as he throws them to the ground with a dull clang near the larger pair.

He exhales a long sigh, hesitating a short moment before curling a hand around Ren’s knee and leveraging himself back to a standing position. He turns on a heel, trying to ignore intermittent shifts of dizziness as he hesitantly steps out of the cell and leans down to grab at the fallen blaster; he quickly inspects the power pack and firing mechanism, finding it to be in order despite obvious lack of upkeep.  

Hux looks between Arc and Atak’s at-attention expressions, then reaches forward to open Arc’s cell, shoving the blaster to her open hands with some reluctance. She takes it with similar hesitancy, eyes wide, and he chooses not to recite regulation at her – it would seem defensive; weak.  

“Sir,” Arc murmurs, lifting her chin with a familiar, almost comforting look of assurance.  

“Projected four hostiles,” Hux says, moving over to Atak’s cell, then shooing him away toward Ren when soft medic hands reach for Hux’s injury. “Complexity unknown, dependent on the droids, but at a speculated seven if interference is required.”

Arc nods shortly, shouldering the blaster with a steady hand, then tips her head toward Ren with a significant squint of her eyes.   

“The Commander will not be joining the operation, lest he wish me to forget our conversations in these cells,” Hux says, vaguely registering the flickering grimace across Arc’s face, instead glancing backward to focus on the narrow glare from Ren. It’s his own reckless fault, which he’d never admit, but Hux in turn doesn’t plan to ask.

“Call them in,” Ren says, his voice still somewhere near a rasp, “Stage a trap.”

“So they can throw another gas grenade in? Rather not,” Hux says, approaching the holo screen at the far end of the room. He stares at it for a long moment, readying himself for disappointment, then taps it on with a careful press of a finger.

The holo recognizes his print immediately, revealing by a quick glance at the corner that only the ship’s intra-Order network signal had been compromised; they’re untrackable, but the surveillance function within the freighter itself is fully operating. He spares a moment to wonder if they’ve been using it before dismissing the thought – more than a single soldier would’ve come in had they seen Hux in Ren’s cell.

“They seem to have set up base in the cargo hold,” Hux says, tapping the next cam to surveil the far end, near the open bay. He feels a huff bubble up his chest, “As well as defaced _Upsilon_ with a derogatory term toward Ren’s legitimacy – how charming. You think they’d be more respectful toward their command.”

“General,” Ren grunts, attempting to shoulder in close next to Hux to peer at the holo screen.

Hux glances sideways with a glare before swiping away the cams and looking for the – ah, yes, there are his droids. He hasn’t had them field tested, but there is no better time than the present.

“Are the assassin droids to replace the troopers, sir?”

“The answer to that is above your pay grade, AT-1000,” Hux says, keeping his eyes on the screen as he carefully keys in his code, watching the activation lights turn from red, to amber, to green. The project was unofficially shut down nearly at the start, but the troopers hardly need to know that, not to mention Ren.

The droid is slow to activate, but makes swift, violent work of the small Republic squad, likely due to taking them by complete surprise in their unconscious states. It would be a success if one of the movement joints hadn’t gone completely immobile, earning it a severe fail grade even for prototype. He’ll have to conduct a full diagnostics sweep once he’s back on _Finalizer_.

“You’re mumbling again,” Ren says, his own voice quiet, if sullen, “But it’s boring.”

“Arc, please dispose of the soldiers,” Hux announces, ignoring Ren’s attempt to catch his eyes and instead looking to the troopers, lifting his chin with a pained attempt to put his hands again at his back. “I want their data pads and blasters, of course, and anything else that might be used to communicate.”

“Yes, sir,” Arc says, nodding tersely, “May I retrieve my helmet?”

“You may,” Hux allows, tilting his head slightly and finding himself regretting the movement as a deafening rush of blood floods his senses. His symptoms should be gone by now, surely; it's been hours.

Arc proceeds them out the door, checking for unlikely clever cloaks with her blaster out front and eventually slipping into the small trooper quarters, while Atak has already made toward the med bay at a cross tee. The rest of the halls are quiet all the way into the cockpit, if for the even echo of boots, and Hux deactivates the hyperdrive with a slow exhale; the freighter ungently drops out into open space, no stars or planets within visible distance, only a soft, oppressive void.

“The Republic will track the freighter,” Ren says, sparing a glance toward the darkened window.

“Likely,” Hux agrees, turning around and making toward the door, only to find himself pausing, touching at Ren’s strained arm for a short moment. “Come. I’ll get that off.”

Ren insists on walking side-by-side in the narrow hall, long-strided and heavy-footed as typical, only to abruptly stop with a curious twist at the waist, seemingly unbalanced by his bound arms and tripping just as they pass an ominous emergency release. It’s a close thing to catastrophe, Hux getting knocked hard in the ribs, but he otherwise manages to dodge just as Ren falls to the floor with a painful crack of both knees.

“I believe I said you'd have to ask,” Hux says, looking down with a short flicker of his lashes, trying to catch a reaction. “Or have you already settled for rebellion?”

Ren glares upward with that heavy look back in his eyes, shifting up on his knees with an awkward shuffle. “Your humor is wretched.”

“Do I not seem serious?” Hux asks, tempted to move backward, but instead finding himself shifting closer.

“It lacks… a confidence,” Ren says, his voice lowering in both tone and volume, tilting his head down as if to glance further along the narrow hall and away from Hux. He still hasn’t tried to get up. “Unrelated to head trauma.”

“You’ve already nearly killed yourself snapping that soldier’s neck,” Hux says, as an uncomfortable bolt of unease threatens to wind around his throat. He hesitantly shifts forward to press Ren gently into the wall, attempting to be careful of the binding at his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to associate this all with unwelcome pain, even if Ren is so impeccably situated, “For me. I’m _confident_ of that.”

Ren looks up as he leans back into the wall, lips parting on inhale, “You were angry.”

“Some,” Hux says, reaching down and drawing his fingers along the edge of the offending collar, just brushing at the heated skin underneath; he wants dearly to tear this dodgy metal apart beneath his own hands. “But not at the act itself.”

“Pardon, sir,” Arc says quietly, brushing past them in the hall toward the cargo hold.

Ren immediately leans away from Hux, a twisting grimace marring his expression. He proceeds to look into some middle-distance just alongside Hux’s hip, “This is why I didn’t want to bring them.”

“I can’t believe you – they’re not _children_ ,” Hux sighs, kneeling down to grab Ren by the elbow and doing his best to pull him up, then directing him to the small officer unit of the freighter.

It’s cramped, even simple, made up of a pair of cots on either side of an alusteel table with a small refresher in the far corner. The soldiers seemed to have avoided touching anything other than the boardroom and cargo, which is more suspicious than Hux has time for right now. He should check for an explosive, or another poison, but all he can seem to concentration on right now is Ren. 

“You still shouldn’t want them around to watch,” Ren mutters, practically sulking if just by the frown; his shoulders would undoubtedly be slumped if he had the range of movement. “It’s weird.”

Hux reaches forward and around to grab at the rods binding the cuffs, shaking it somewhat and making Ren hiss under his breath, “Do you want out of this or not?”

“Please,” Ren mutters, looking up with a pointed glance through his lashes, mouth curling into an insincere pout.

Hux narrows his eyes into a glare, then leans forward, breathing softly against Ren’s ear. “Stop being a _brat_ , Commander.”

Ren responds with a slow tip of his head against Hux’s, exhaling a sigh as heavily as his binds will allow. His lips are warm when he speaks into Hux’s neck, “Then don’t be a dick, _General_.”

“I have painkillers, sir,” a meek voice comes from the door, and Hux turns around to watch Atak reaching in awkwardly at the elbow to set a small tube of pills at the doorside shelf. “For your injuries until you can get to medbay.”

The door slides closed a few seconds later, allowing the quarters to descend into little more than the rumble of hyperspace and the soft noise of breathing. Hux releases Ren and pushes him down to one of the cots, then goes after the painkillers with a certain excitement toward being able to think again without a thudding ache between his temples.

“I take it you can’t feel anything below the elbow,” Hux says, tapping a few of the tablets into his palm.

“Pain makes me stronger,” Ren says, his brow furrowing and mouth pinching into pale line.

“I’m sure,” Hux mutters, sighing heavily and bringing the bottle back to slam with a rattle on the table, because while he’s an adult that is mature enough to care for himself, Ren will simply whinge on about the entirely invented powers of pinched nerves.

He turns around at just the right moment to catch Ren looking away with a frown settled across his lips, hunching over at the waist into the table, and almost asks before deciding to leave it until the cuffs are off. It might be something potentially violent, but it won’t be the first time Hux has gotten in a fight with this particular angry, embittered Force user against better judgment.

“How did they get you in this?” Hux asks, trailing his fingers along the keypad; it’s only nine characters and four digits, so less it’s than it could be, but hardly a best case scenario. He sits back on his heels, glancing between the bars, and realizes cutting it off might be the only option.

“I woke up and it was there,” Ren says, head hanging and voice barely audible, “They said it was made for me.”

“For you,” Hux repeats, narrowing his eyes at the keypad; they wouldn’t do that, would they? He leans forward and taps in a date, one that is practically a holiday for the Republic, while in the same breath it is unspeakable in the Order.

Ren startles forward as the binds all click at once with a hollow beep. He looks over his shoulder in shock, worsening the state of himself if only to confirm the obvious with his own wide eyes. 

“Stop that,” Hux says, reaching up and forcing Ren to turn back around before he cuts himself up with the collar’s parted edges, “It was your birthdate.”

“You know my birthday?” Ren asks, his voice sounding oddly small.

“Everyone in the Galaxy knows,” Hux says, standing far too quickly for his lingering headache, then hesitantly reaching for the collar, unclipping it to reveal underneath a perfectly bruised stripe around Ren’s neck entire. “It’s the same day of the Dissolution.”

Ren is quiet until the entire apparatus is unclasped and laying on the floor behind him, then abruptly exhales a heaving sigh, raising his hands above his head like a lunatic. “Yeah.”

Hux grimaces at the sight of reddened, raw skin stretching out from underneath Ren’s sleeves, trying and failing to convince himself that he doesn’t need to go back out and kick at the soldiers’ heads a few more times. He clears his throat and leans downward, already resigning himself to grossly sentimental insanity before his lips touch the warm base of Ren’s neck, just above the bruise.

“You know…” Ren sighs, rolling his neck to the side and reaching out to drag a clumsy hand down Hux’s side, before dropping it back to his side, “You’re the first person to call it my birthday first, then the Dissolution.”

“I find that deeply depressing for you,” Hux says, standing up and reaching for the bottle, tapping out a few more tablets into his palm. He slowly steps in front of Ren, holding out his palm in front of Ren’s face, “And I don’t even like you.”

Ren stares at the tablets for a long moment, then opens his mouth like some sort of juvenile bird-creature. It’s not quite what Hux had in mind, but he carefully drops the pair in, then taps at Ren’s chin to make him swallow.

“My arms feel like they’re trying to escape,” Ren says, taking a deep breath and standing, then shifting over to the bunks and slumping down onto the bottom cot. He turns around to lay prone on his back, eyes wide and searching at ostensibly nothing, “Dissolving off.”

“Poetic,” Hux says, pushing up and away from the table. He’s tempted to take a few more tablets, still aching, a little curious if the side effects might involve passing out and waking up four hours ago.

“Buckles,” Ren murmurs, with a low hum.

Hux stares for a moment, then clears his throat when Ren offers no further explanation. “Excuse me?”

“For yours, or mine, or whosever it is,” Ren sighs, turning his head and peeking his eyes open, dark and altogether intense. “Buckles. Not a keypad.”

“Ah,” Hux intones, reaching up and rubbing at his brow with a single, shaking hand.

He feels a sudden heat at the back of his neck and a nervous flutter low in his throat. The collar and cuff contraption lays flat and deceptively innocuous on the floor, now a portent for a future of something tolerable developing into itself behind Hux’s eyes. It is so many parts awful to go through with turning this attempt at abduction into such a… a _deviance_ , but, “And red.”

Ren rolls his eyes, turning back to the ceiling of his bunk, “Whatever.”

**Author's Note:**

> apparently "Military Science Fiction" is a tag, so. why not.


End file.
